


The Little Wolf

by Eilidh_Is_Here



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-07-21 21:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7406428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eilidh_Is_Here/pseuds/Eilidh_Is_Here
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Set to Game on Thrones (the hit TV series).</p><p>What if you owned an animal species that mimicked your soul, a "spirit animal" in reality? People of such abilities are called "Outsiders".<br/>Lyra is an "Outsider".<br/>Lyra is unique, and odd, and special and gifted....And hunted.<br/>An Outsider is so hated, so frowned upon...how will she survive in the game between thrones, different regal families-a game where survival is hard, and winning is somewhat impossible.</p><p>Join Lyra Stark, a unique, original character as she learns who she is, what her powers are, and how she can face her destiny. She has always heard she was special, that she has a destiny to meet-little did she know how important she'd be in playing the Game of Thrones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lyra

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment what you think, it would mean a lot as this is my first story!

Winterfell

 Two eyes the colour of crystals peered over a fallen tree, staring intently at a snow-white beetle hunting a smaller, weaker bug.

The watched beetle, with matched concentration, slyly moved closer to his prey. As he opened his mouth, the beetle lunged for his meal, departing the ground as one creature, landing again, prey in mouth, as a small bird.

“Lev!” the little girl with crystal eyes enthused, “well done, my friend!”

The baby bird swaggered over to the girl proudly, pacing on the log in front of her crystal eyes as if to do a victory dance. The little lady shifted slightly to remove her drab grey cloak, revealing an equally drab and utterly filthy outfit underneath. Her navy blue dress, which covered her knobbly little knees, had dirt stains smattered all over it, her fur vest had cobwebs, her should-be-straight brown hair held a rat’s maze, her black stockings ripped at the shin.

Lyra was utterly, in all senses of the word, imperfect.

Yet, this would never discount her worth, and Lyra knew, humbly, that she was special. Lev, her little beetle-turned-bird was more than a specimen, he was far more than a companion to the unique little lady, Lev was Lyra’s soul. He was her spirit, her emotion, her personality worn on her sleeve, all reflecting in a little creature that changed species like her big sister changed her mind about whether little Lyra was worth her time or not.  
But Lyra didn’t care about Sansa, her grumpy big sister that she couldn’t help but adore, she left all that behind her every day when she was with Lev.

She crouched down again, once more resuming her position of intently staring at the bird. Quickly Lev stretched his wings and flew up, squawking to encourage his little master to keep up. Lyra cackled, before hoisting herself over the log, sprinting through the forest, splashing through water, sliding, tummy down, through mud. Mother would not be pleased, Father would once more walk into her room and tenderly tell his rambunctious little daughter to act like a lady, not a clown, Jon would smirk, and Arya would be jealous that she weren’t there with her.

As Lyra rose out of the mud, she heard voices and horses approaching, reminding her of the Night’s Watch deserter that required her father’s audience. Lyra had been given no knowledge of the execution, but being the intuitive thing she was, had simply figured. She whistled for Lev, who soared onto her shoulder, this time as a Snow Owl, and headed for the noise, bracing herself for a “how to be lady-like” lecture.

As Lyra frequently did, she was accurate in assuming the reactions of her clumsy, energetic ways. The second her muddied little figure blundered onto the path, her Father gently shook his head in a delicate mix of disapproval, for the lady his daughter wasn’t, but admiration, for the woman his daughter would inevitably become. She was simple. She was Lyra.

“I’m sorry, father”, the girl spoke, guiltily looking at her muddied boots.

“Where is Maester Leland?” Her father questioned, reminding Lyra of her doddery old teacher. Maester Leland had been invited to look after Lev to his needs during Lyra’s infancy, and then teach Lyra how to control him, and her unique powers, as she aged.

Lyra knew little of how Lev came about, and no one, not even her father or mother, would tell her. All the girl knew was that when she was born, the wetnurse and Maester Luwin agreed she was special. The girl was born tiny, so tiny they debated her survival. Yet, she fought hard, and though she was still tiny now, aged four, she was still a little fighter. Additionally, her eyes were crystal blue, so bright and sparkly, they were described in relation to a White Walkers. A couple of months after her birth, Lyra was still tiny, her eyes still effervescent, and her parents increasingly worried. Within an hour, Ned was packed up, babe in arms, where he galloped out of the gates. Her returned two months later, Lyra, still tiny, bundled in his arms, a baby owl perched on his shoulder. And that is all Lyra knew. She didn’t know where her father took her, where Lev appeared, and who Ned met with.

Lyra frequently questioned it, to which her parents, or Leland, would simply answer, “Lyra, you are a special girl, who has a special future planned.” The conversations would always end there, any more questioning from Lyra being shunned furthermore.

Lyra reconsidered her father’s question of Maester Leland’s whereabouts and answered, “Home, father. Our lesson ended.”

Her father merely shook his head again, this time eyeing her grubby dress. Then, he gently smiled before saying, “Ride with your brothers”, nodding over at her three brothers mounted atop their horses. Before she could walk toward a horse, Ned chuckled with a cheeky grin.

“What?” Lyra asked.

“You have to tell mother what happened to your dress!” he grinned.

And, with that, he kicked his horse into a trot. Leaving Lyra to silently panic over what she would tell her mother. Jon trotted up, still smirking, and lifted his little sister into his lap.

Together, the company continued to ride. Lev, a baby owl, paced his flaps to fly aside Lyra.


	2. Little Knight

Winterfell

"Arise, Ser Lyra, Knight of Winterfell", Lyra giggled as her imagination went into overdrive. She was all on her own, which was typical for her, but she wasn't lonely, she was free. Free to dash after Lev as he switched species interchangeably, free to lie in the grass and roll down hills and swing from trees. Free to allow her imagination to carry her on all sorts of courageous adventures. The most frequent adventure was becoming "Ser Lyra", a brave knight of Winterfell. 

Lyra had an odd obsession with Knights, and her ambition was to become one. She didn't care that "Ser" was typical for men, some day, she would charge into battle atop a handsome stallion, and she would fight alongside her brothers. A knight was an honorary title, and if she had honour, and courage, and skill, what would prevent her from achieving, she thought. Power was not on her mind, however, and Lyra would gladly bend her knee to one who was worthy, but honour, much like her father, was the badge she would wear with pride. However, no matter how honourable she was, no matter how skilled she was at throwing knives or swinging a sword, sneakily stolen from the kitchen or her brother's belt, and no matter how much she aspired to be one, a lady could never be a knight. She was to trot side saddle, she was to curtsy to her superiors, and she was to 'glide', as her mother lectured, not run.

Unfortunately for Lyra, being feminine was not a skill of hers. For lack of a better words, as Lyra frequently thought, she absolutely sucked at being a lady.

While Sansa was born into it, and Arya refused to conform to it, Lyra simply failed at it. She'd stab herself with sewing needles, her knobbly little knees raced to and fro through the halls of Winterfell, her alert ears always catching her mother's voice, lecturing, "Hush, little lady. A lady doesn't run, a lady glides." Her shins were covered with scabs, not stockings, her dress muddied, and she found herself on the ground most times she tried to curtsy. However, what her mother didn't know was that behind closed doors, there was her youngest daughter-her clumsiest daughter-practising her curtsying, for no reason other than to make her parents proud.

Yet, Lyra's clumsiness would never ignore Lyra's spirit. She had more loyalty, more honour, than her father could fathom for a four year old. She had a pure heart, a sense of worth, and she wore her title as a Stark like a decorated badge. She may have had the coordination of a baby deer on a frozen lake, but she had the honour of a Stark. She was her father's daughter, through and through.

It was because of her desire to be a knight, however, that she found herself, once again, sneaking away from the magnificent castle of Winterfell into the woods. An old belt of her father's was tied around her skinny waste and several kitchen knives and a wooden sword were anchored tightly in. She was ready for yet another adventure, and, as per usual, so was Lev and her newly adopted direwolf puppy, Chief. 

Lyra stood in the forest a short while later, facing a tree-but in her overactive, imaginative mind, the tree was no less than an enemy, ready for Ser Lyra to attack it. She drew a knife, aimed it at the target and threw. The knife flew through the air quickly, and struck the target accurately. She smiled to herself, before looking over for Lev and Chief's noises of approval. Once more, the little knight-to-be drew another knife. She took a deep sigh in, aimed it at the tree, and steadied herself for the throw, inhaling the calmness of her surroundings, focusing on nothing but her target and her weapon.

"And how long do you expect your enemy to stand around for?" a low voice intruded her concentration. She flinched in fright, before turning around nervously. Her older brother, Jon, was standing there. He very rarely smiled and he often had his head hung, but Lyra saw through him. He was an outcast like her, he was unique in his own way like her, and he often found himself on his own, like her. 

"You scared me" Lyra said softly, before turning around, once again raising her knife to aim carefully. It was a slow process for her, but her accuracy was commendable. 

"You need to work on two things, little one", Jon spoke, again breaking Lyra's concentration.

"What?"

"First, speed. I wasn't kidding, nor was I exaggerating- your enemy will not stand there and wait as you aim your weapon."

Lyra couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. Her bright smile, toothless and adorable, worked its magic and forced a smile out of her broody big brother. She nodded and silently promised to work on both speed and aim, to become better.

"Second", Jon added, "Don't flinch. I approached you, not too softly, from behind, and you were startled. A knight needs to have courage and a knight needs to have a steady hand. You can not flinch."

This caused the little girl to hang her head, chin to chest. She often thought about everything positive that made her a knight, yet she often failed to address what wouldn't make her one. Jon squatted beside her petite figure, placed his hand on her shoulder, and looked into her eyes.

"Stand up. Stand tall. Stand proud." Lyra did so, puffing her little chest out proudly. Jon smiled tenderly at her, once more. He then drew two longswords from his belt, causing Lyra to flinch once more.

"Close your eyes" he said authoritatively, "When I bang my swords together, when you hear that noise, I want you to open your eyes and throw your knife. Okay, little one?"

Lyra nodded, chest still puffed out, knife in hand. Slowly, she closed her eyes and waited for the noise. The wait was agonising, the anticipation close to unbearable waiting to hear the noise of the swords clashing together.

Finally, though, the noise was heard. Lyra opened her eyes, aimed and threw the knife. It hit the tree, a while away from her target, but she still hit the tree. Lyra smiled and spun around to confront Jon's frown. 

"I did it, I didn't flinch and I hit the tree!"

"But your speed was poor. What did I tell you about the need for haste? Remember, you need to throw fast. Accuracy will come later."

Once more, Lyra reset-eyes closed, knife in hand, anticipating the noise to alert her to open her eyes and throw. 

This time, when she heard the bang of the swords colliding, she opened her eyes and threw immediately. Her speed was admirable, her accuracy poor. The knife whizzed right passed the tree, deep into the forest. Chief and Lev immediately took of in search of it, Lev transforming from a small white bug, to a magnificent owl, racing her black and white patched direwolf to retrieve the weapon.

Jon pushed his swords back into his belt, before saying, "Third lesson for today. Practise. A knight never gives up on his-or her-skill."

Lyra nodded, before setting off to collect her knives. She turned around to hear Jon say, "Most knights fight with swords, not throw knives. One day, I expect to see you do both." 

Lyra beamed her effervescent grin, and imagined herself slaying her enemy.

One day, she thought, one day I will make it. Then she turned to her big brother, one of her best friends, and said, "One day we will fight side by side." 

With this, she raced to Jon, the only man who ever came close to understanding her, and jumped into his arms in a tight bear hug.

"One day", he said with a smile, before kissing her on the head and heading back for Winterfell.

 


	3. An Outsider

Winterfell

"The King is coming!"

The news spread like wildfire through Winterfell. The great hall was prepped for the king, King Robert Baratheon, his Queen, children and company. More food than Lyra had ever seen was brought in, and Lyra was ushered out of each and every room as maids cleaned hastily. 

Lyra had never met the King, but she had heard tails of him. He was supposed to wed Lyanna, her father's sister, but her tragic death had changed everything. The King and her father had fought side by side over a decade prior, and had not seen each other for nine years. This meant Lyra, and her 6 -year-old brother Rickon had never been seen by him.

Nonetheless, everyone was excited for the nobles' arrival through their gates in just a number of weeks. Everyone was a relative term, however, as Maester Leland, Lyra's ageing teacher, spent most of his time in her lessons teaching Lyra how important it was to keep her mouth shut about Lev, and her "abilities".

Lyra was an Outsider, and Lev was a creature called a Helai. 

Both were feared, and for the most part exiled or alienated. That is why Lyra had to always stay silent, and keep Lev hidden, or controlled, when visitors came.

A Helai was a projection of someone's soul in animal form. They were the emotion, the personality and every sprinkle of what made the person uniquely them. A Helai's master was called an "Outsider", a term born from the alienation of their kind centuries prior. During childhood innocence, a Helai is interchangeable between species, hence Lev shifting effortlessly between bug to bird to tiger cub in the matter of seconds. However, once the Outsider ages, matures, or loses their innocence, the Helai would also grow. Maester Leland's job was to teach Lyra how to control and command her Helai, before this happened. Once the Outsider loses their innocence, if they had not gained control over their Helai, the creature would settle as a sole animal, the animal projection of their soul, and not be able to change species again. If, on the other hand, they do gain control, the Outsider can command the Helai to turn into whatever animal they desire.

"The best Outsiders are able to control their Helai's change with their minds", Leland often recounted. Lyra would always enthuse, "One day, will I be able to turn Lev into a dragon?" to which Leland would reply glumly, "That is for you to find out."

"Outsider's were once common folk-they were nobles, they were knights, they were peasants.They were from all walks of life, and had varying socio-economical statuses.This was when Dragons flew in the sky, and the Targaryen's were on thethrone", the old man continued."

All Lyra knew was that that the Targaryen's used to be the royal family of Westeros, but they lost it. At the time, however, Outsider's fought side by side with them, the most powerful of them turning their Helai's into dragons. Once the throne was lost to them, Outsider's were banished beyond the wall to the "Land of Souls", any stepping foot over would be killed.Rumours sparked that Outsider's had become the wild folk beyond the wall, others believed Outsiders were as evil and inhuman as White Walkers.

From then on, the rumours sparked, and stories became what many believed a reality. Outsider's were evil and could not be trusted. A selected few, many Northerners, disbelieved these stories and agreed on the consensus that the treatment of Outsider's was unfair and unjust-but you can't stand up to a King. Thus, Lyra had been born an Outsider, and Ned was forced to keep her abilities hidden to save her life.

The rumours were so wrong, and one day Lyra knew she would have to change it. 


	4. A Time to Hide

Winterfell

It was Summer, and it had been for a long time. The days were longer, the nights shorter, but with a crispness in the air suggested that winter would be coming soon. 

Lyra liked the Summer, but was strangely looking forward to the Winter. For her, Winter seemed quieter, with less hustle and more solitude. Lyra preferred to be on her own, she liked being with just her thoughts and her pets, no curtsying, or haste, or "pick up the pace, hurry it along", no judgement and no hiding. On her own, she would giggle as she hung from trees and allow her dress to fall over her face, she would take off her shoes and stockings and place her little feet in the stream. She would teach her direwolf tricks, and try and catch Lev as he changed species as quick as a blink.

Occasionally Jon would join, which didn't bother Lyra. Jon, like her, was a reserved sort who frequently found himself on his own. And, sometimes, if the chaos of the castle, or the pressures of being a bastard, or an Outsider, or being ladylike got to them, they'd both take off for a few hours.

The last few weeks for Lyra, however, had been nothing but a time to hide. It was not out of her desire to be on her own, or shying away from the King and his family and company arriving at Winterfell, it was because she was an Outsider, literally and figuratively. There were many people who were worried about her kind, many who were indifferent to them, but some simply detested them-and, unfortunately for sweet Lyra, the King was one of them, as was his family.

Thus, Lyra was unable to spend too long in their presence, and if a feast arose, Lev was kept in the dungeons where he couldn't escape, under lock and key and a watchful eye. It was simply too risky having Lev fly around, as he was still too young to understand he must only change when selected eyes were on him. Yet, a Helai was a spiritual animal, and a piece of Lyra's soul, and separation was tough on her.

Lyra always thought if they found out about her being an Outsider, and that what they thought was just a pet owl was actually a species-changing Helai, they would only be mad. The worst case scenario in Lyra's innocent, childish mind was that Lev would be taken away. Nevertheless, despite what she innocently believed, she couldn't help but notice that her parents were always quite anxious whenver Lyra was around anyone in the Lannister or Baratheon family. 

They knew more than their youngest daughter, they feared more than Lyra did. Little did sweet Lyra know that if any of them found out they would not just take Lev away from Lyra, they would take Lyra away from her parents.

And they would kill her.


	5. Forgotten

Winterfell

Everything had changed since the King had arrived. Everything. 

To Lyra, the King seemed moronic and slow, but Cersei, his Queen, wasn't. She was so bitter and fiendish, yet clever in a cunning way. Lyra's mother, Lady Catelyn, had become so worried over having her daughter and Lev around Cersei, she was ordered to spend most of her time in her chamber. It was out of love, and Lyra understood her parents merely wanted to protect her, but it was difficult for Lyra. She enjoyed being on her own, but not in the one place. She enjoyed having adventures on her own outside, where there were no limits to her imagination and her brave conquests seemed so real, even if they were a figment of her mind. However, facing the same drab, grey walls was not the way Lyra enjoyed solitude. She scoffed to her old, patched-up bear how she was an Outsider both in a figurative and literal sense. An Outsider was a a 'kind' of person, which Lyra was, yet she was equally alienated she felt she understood where the term arose from.

Every couple of hours, Catelyn would slip into Lyra's room and embrace her young daughter sympathetically, struggling to let go, making Lyra aware of how difficult it was for her mother. Catelyn "never had much of an opinion on Outsiders" before Lyra was born, but now she would go to any lengths to make sure their infamous mistreatment would never reach her baby. After a number of weeks, Lyra quite looked forward to her mother's visits, and would wait standing at the door for her to walk in.

That was until the accident.

Not even a week earlier, her older brother, Bran, had been found unconscious at the foot of a tower. He had seemingly fallen, but no one seemed to believe that story. All knew, even Lyra in her four year old wisdom, that Bran had climbed in every condition, even when the stones were slippery and footing was seemingly impossible, and had never fallen. Now, her mother wasted away by Bran's comatose side, and Cersei's smile seemed to get more cunning. 

The days following Bran's fall, Lyra went forgotten. The chaos of the King's arrival was enough for her to go unnoticed, but the tragedy of the fall made it impossible for anyone to remember that the little lady had not been fed, bathed, tucked in, or even had her chamber pot cleaned. So, Lyra made her way outside to scavenge some food. 

And, in a momentary lapse of caution, she had allowed Lev to change form. As soon as it occurred, panic took over and Lev squawked a warning, prompting Lyra to turn around, startled.

Lannister eyes had seen. 

"You're an Outsider!" the man proclaimed, but not with fear, rather admiration. The figure emerged further from the shadows, revealing a stout man, who stood at Lyra's height-an imp, as many called him. 

Lyra stood frozen in shock, frantically thinking of what to say.

"A Helai is you if you were an animal, I understand?" the small man asked. Lyra didn't answer, she just gently backed away. 

"Are you scared of me?" the man asked again, looking genuinely confused at the girls silence and fright. Then, he remembered-the history of Outsiders, Helai's and what his family did to them. While the order was to banish them, the Lannister's decided to murder them instead. Lyra knew this, and unfortunately for the small Lannister man, so did he. 

"Well then, I must apologise. Apologise for my families treatment of your kind. I could not choose what family I was born to, and my surname is no indication of my opinions. If I had it my way, Outsider's would flourish" he added, looking rather sad.

Lyra's feelings conflicted, from feeling she must be cautious, to strangely wanted to trust this man. She uttered softly, almost at a whisper, "This is Lev."

The man smiled and extended a hand to pet Lev, but the owl flinched away. He gained his composure and said with a smile, "I'm Tyrion".

"Lyra" she replied, gently smiling. 

They spoke for a while, Tyrion apologising for Bran's fall, Lyra explaining more about Helai's and the "destiny" everyone said was waiting for her, but she knew nothing about. Just before they bid each other farewells, Tyrion jokingly measured his height against Lyra's, and pretended to cheer when he realised he was a small amount taller. 

Lyra walked off, giggling, and she thought to herself that maybe not everyone is bad, maybe not all are watchful of her kind. Perhaps one day, maybe when she is a knight, Outsider's will come back and demand the respect they deserve.

That night, as she struggled to sleep thinking about Bran, and her isolation, she couldn't help but feel happy. She had made a friend. And, for Lyra, that was a cause to celebrate. Someone actually wanted to spend time with her, and they weren't an animal, and they weren't imaginary.

They were real.


	6. A Real Adventure

Winterfell

Ser Lyra was on another adventure.

It seemed no one seemed to care if she was here nor there, so she embarked on more adventures, gallivanting around the forest behind the castle. There were times when Lyra thought that she could disappear and no one would notice. She even considered asking Jon if he would like to take off with her. She tried to be brave and understanding, but the sudden shift of normalcy was difficult on all, let alone a mere four year old. Lev was no fun lately either. Since he was a creature who mimicked her innermost being, he resembled a monotonous, ashen moth most days.

Her brother remained comatose, and her mother remained absent, withering away at his side. 

Winterfell had always been grey; the walls, floors, the proud house sigil bearing a magnificent wolf , even the clothes the people wore. Yet, the laughter of the people offered a joyous light in comparison to the lustreless surroundings, and Lyra couldn't help but love it. Lately, however, everything room was uninviting and every pleasant place were now cheerless. 

Once Lyra returned to Winterfell, after a few hours of absence, she explored the castle, in case she's overlooked a hidden passage. She found herself walking the length of an elongated corridor, intimidating in size, but oddly thrilling. Lyra was often thankful for her petite stature as it made the world seem so vast, and ensured her adventures never dulled. Along the corridor, she began following the faint sound of whispering, coming from behind a closed door. Soon, the whispering became indistinguishable murmurs, before subtly transforming into words, as she tiptoed closer. She recognised the gentlest voice as her father's, and determined that he must have been speaking to the King. 

She caught the word "betrothed", and though she wasn't exactly sure of its meaning, she understood what it meant in context-particularly when King Robert was using it. Lyra's oldest sister, Sansa, was to be "betrothed" to the King's oldest son, Prince Joffrey. Sansa, like any thirteen year old, was beyond excited at marrying a Prince and one day becoming a Queen. She frequently gushed about him when he wasn't there, and she blushed whenever he was there, which made Lyra and Arya giggle. If Lyra had to describe the young Prince in one word, it would be "unpleasant". The sort of person who introduced cobwebs to each room, and made the room feel instantly colder. He was had lemon-coloured hair, and a constant sneer like he was plotting something. Lyra thought he looked peculiar, Sansa thought he was dreamy. 

As the conversation between her father and the King continued, it only got more confusing. Lyra noticed the strain in her father's voice, like he was struggling to speak. That was always the worst thing about talking to the King, though they tell you to speak your mind, it was punishable if you did. Whatever the two were talking about, it was putting Eddard in an uncomfortable place. The next words Lyra heard were "Oldest and youngest" and "Sansa and Lyra". The sound of her name forced her to stick her ear harder against the door, curious to hear why she was now a part of the conversation. 

"My youngest and your youngest could very well be a match, too, Ned" the King announced.

Hesitantly, Eddard said, "Lyra...Your Grace, Lyra is yet to be five. She is too young."

"Your oldest daughter will marry my oldest son, and when they come of age, Lyra will marry Tommen, my youngest. Our families will unite" the King's voice boomed. His voice trailed off, "The two of them will accompany you to the Capital..."

"The Capital?" Lyra whispered to herself, sadly. 

The King and his family lived in the Capital, a glorious placed named Kings Landing, about a months journey from her home in Winterfell. Yet, Kings Landing was in the South, and Southerners had negative views on Outsiders. The last Outsider Lyra had heard of being in the South had been executed for no reason other than being "of his kind". Lyra was petrified at the thought, and held back her tears. The dangerous nature of Lyra going to Kings Landing would have been playing on her Father's mind, Lyra thought, hence his hesitation, but you can't say no to a King and any reluctance would have been suspicious.

Lyra sprinted back to the safety of her chamber, curled under her bed and willed herself not to cry. She didn't want to leave Winterfell, she didn't want to leave the drab grey walls and forest out the back. She didn't want to leave Jon. She didn't want to leave her other brothers, Bran, Robb and Rickon. She didn't want to leave her mother. She didn't want to leave the calm of the North and go to the hustle of the Capital. She tried to tell herself that this was an adventure. The biggest adventure she'd ever had. She would get to be a Knight in a new place. 

These thoughts did little to comfort herself, but she still willed herself not to cry. If there was one thing a Knight didn't do, it was cry. And Lyra was a knight, even if she was scared.


	7. Wolf

Winterfell

Departure from Winterfell was pending, and Lyra grew more anxious and reluctant to leave with each passing day. Lyra had prayed to the old Gods and the new that perhaps things would change and she wouldn't have to travel South, yet they didn't answer. Since they were yet to answer her prayers for her brother to awake from his coma, she figured her second request would go unheard for now.

With hair flowing behind her, Lyra, once more, sprinted from Winterfell to the Godswood. It would be the last time for her to practice throwing knives, and it would be the last time for her to freely play with Lev, without fear that evil eyes were watching her. King's Landing was a dangerous place for an Outsider, even if they were a noble one. 

Lyra threw her collection of knives at the tree, however, most of them were feeble and rusty and weren't efficient. Still, she persisted, and as Jon had taught she continued to practice her skill. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, preparing to launch the blade into the air as soon as she exhaled. Succeeding more than she expected, the blade sailed through the air quickly and struck the tree close to her target. 

"You're getting better" a low voice spoke behind her. She recognised the voice and spun around excitedly, beaming up at Jon. 

"I've been practising, like you said", Lyra smiled, returning the compliment. 

Jon knelt down in front of her to get to her height, and placed one hand tenderly on her shoulder.

"Close your eyes" he instructed. 

Lyra obeyed, and closed her eyes, anticipating what Jon would do. He placed an object, which was surprisingly weighty, in her small hands, and told her to open. There, resting in the palms of her hands, was the single greatest gift Lyra had ever received. 

It was a small blade, but with a specific weight designed for an effective throw. It wasn't just a regular knife, it was a throwing knife. Its steel was silver, and when it glistened Lyra thought it looked like a glimpse of the moon. The handle was a hard, woven design, intermingling royal gold with Stark grey, and the tip handle had the ornament of a proud Direwolf head. Lyra was speechless, all she could do was stare at her gift.

Jon interrupted the silence, "Lyra, this is your first weapon, your first blade. Be careful, and be wise." Lyra nodded, grinning from ear to ear. She gently put the knife back into its sheath, and then leaped up into Jon's arms, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Since this is your first blade, a mighty blade at that, it deserves a name."

Lyra though for a moment, before answering, "Wolf". 

And before Jon could question it, Lyra concluded, "Because it was given to me by one."


	8. Courage, Lyra

Winterfell

The day had come. 

It was time to leave Winterfell, it was time to leave her family, time to leave Jon, and time to leave the safety of the North.

Lyra had already said her goodbye's to her mother and Bran, telling his lifeless figure that one day they would see each other again, and he would be better. She hugged Rickon and Robb, even some of the bannermen, maids and maesters she'd never met before but felt obliged to do so. She had been avoiding the last goodbye for the whole morning, hoping innocently that if she never said it, he would never leave. Jon walked up to her, and smirked as Lyra tried to avoid eye contact.

"It's time for us to say goodbye, little one" he said, bending down toward her slightly.

She'd been so brave through all the goodbye's, but now the agony of leaving home and the desperation to stay was building up a resistance. All her sadness broke its barrier in her eyes, and spilled down her cheeks. 

She sobbed, "I don't want to say goodbye".

"Well then, don't say goodbye. One day, pray soon, we will see each other again. You will have trained hard with Wolf, and learned how to control Lev."

Lyra didn't respond, she just sobbed as Jon scooped her up into a final tight hug.

"I'm going to miss you, Lyra."

"I'll miss you too" she responded, tearfully.

"When you miss me, hold Wolf close and think of me. Think of how one day we will be together again. Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle."

He started walking toward a horse-drawn wagon, Lyra still in his arms. He placed her down, held her hand and said simply, "Courage, Lyra."

Shortly after, the company were all riding out of the gates toward the Kingsroad, following the Lannister's lead. Jon, the small man and her Uncle Benjen would accompany them along the Kingsroad before splitting off in opposite directions. Jon was heading to the Wall to join the Night's Watch. Lyra had lost count of the amount of times she'd asked Jon if she would be able to join the Night's Watch. It was uttered that when you become a sworn brother of the Night's Watch, all your previous sins were forgotten. What Lyra didn't know was not only did those on the Wall hate the Outsider's like the Free Folk, the Watchers on the Wall would butcher any that passed. Maester Leland had told Lyra that most surviving Outsider's lived beyond the Wall in the Land of Always Winter, in a place known as the Land of Souls. Only a lucky few, Lyra included, were still alive on her side of the Wall.

As the company rode the Kingsroad, Lyra looked on sadly as Jon, Benjen and Tyrion parted and went a separate way. Way off in the distance, opposite from her direction of travel, Lyra imagined what the Wall looked like, and she dreamed of one day reuniting with Jon there.

Her mind continued to wander to far beyond the Wall to the Land of Souls, a place she only visited in her dreams. One day, when she was grown up, she would journey to such a place and meet her own kind, perhaps even unite them to bring back their honour. 

It was going to be a long journey, but if she was a knight, she would have to be brave. She took Wolf out of his Sheath, held him to her chest and whispered, "Courage, Lyra". 


	9. Fearsome

Crossroads Inn, Along the Kingsroad

The journey from Winterfell to King's Landing was about a month, and all were getting rambunctious, but none more so than Lyra and Lev. Each time they stopped, Eddard would hurry Lyra along, to ensure she was out of the way of all who could see her, and allow Maester Leland to take her, Lev, and his own Helai, Sella, somewhere to be free for a while. Therefore, Lyra could not wait to actually arrive at King's Landing, where she would actually have a room to stay, and a place more permanent to keep Lev. 

Nonetheless, there was yet another place to stay before arriving in the South. It was an Inn along the Kingsroad, commonly called the Crossroads Inn. Despite Sansa's complaint's, Lyra quite liked it there. There was a forest nearby, that reminded her of the one at Winterfell, albeit much smaller. Arya and Lyra had taken off with their friend, Mycah, with the intention of finding a quite place to play. Lyra, however, took Wolf with her, and practised her knife throwing, leaving Chief, her Direwolf, to have a much needed break from Lev's pesky, youth behaviours, such as turning into a bird and pecking at his tail.

Finally, as Lyra had wished for, there was a sense of freedom, and seclusion.

That was until the Prince came.

Arya and Mycah had been sword fighting with sticks, and Lyra was practising, yet again, her skill in knife-throwing. The Prince ponced up to the Butcher's boy and directly spoke to him. Mycah was a sweet boy, much taller than both Arya and Lyra, but was very soft and kind. He also knew he must respect the Prince, and agree with his every word, even if it was unfair and disagreeable. First, the Prince wrongly claimed that Mycah had been beating a lady, a noble, which Arya argued against. Then, Joffrey complained when the boy called him "my Lord" instead of "Your Grace", and when Mycah apologised profusely and bowed in respect, all the rotten Prince did was smirk and put on a show for Sansa, who had been walking with him earlier. Lyra, immediately dreading being anywhere with Lev, grabbed Lev and told him to leave. Lev very rarely listened to her instructions, only her mind. Lyra's fear was that if she found herself angry at Joffrey, Lev would mimic her and reveal himself as a wolf, effectively concluding any hope of surviving in the South as an Outsider. Thankfully, Lev seemed to obey.

The cruel Prince snarled, "You are nothing but a Butcher's boy, a peasant. Your kind are my servants, I don't have to show any respect you, toad."

"Wrong!" Lyra argued, trying not to show Joffrey that she was terrified. Her father had always taught her that though she was a noble, though she had power, didn't mean she could exploit those who didn't. If she were lucky enough to have money, her wealth would be used to help others who needed help. That, her father told her, was the only reason why a man should have power and money.

Joffrey turned to face Lyra, taking a step toward her, towering over her petite, trembling frame, cocking his head perilously. "What did you say? You are talking to a Prince."

Lyra considered keeping her mouth shut, she was so scared. Yet, a voice in her mind propelled her to stand up for the boy who couldn't. "I said you are wrong, _Your Grace_ " she said with a sarcastic bow, emphasising the words "Your Grace". 

Before the Prince got a chance to reply, Lyra added, "Without the people, there would be no Kings Landing. YOU are as much their servant as they are yours."

Lyra held her breath, waiting for Joffrey to draw his sword and attack her, but he didn't. Instead, he turned toward Mycah, and walked in his direction, drawing his sword. As he reached Mycah, he turned to Lyra and Arya and said, "This is what I do to peasants", and with that he slashed a line on the boy's cheek, drawing blood and tears.

Arya picked up her stick, in a fit of rage, and hit the Prince over the back. The Prince swung his sword at her and screamed, "I'll gut you...", and continuing to swear obscenities at her sister. Arya swerved and ducked the blade, but eventually tripped over, causing her to be an open target to Joffrey's rage and sword blade. Sansa screamed for both to stop it, but he continued for she had dared to attack a Prince, a punishable crime. He raised the sword above his head, seconds away from swinging it down and killing Arya, before Lyra jumped up from behind and grabbed the blade with her bare heads. The pain was mind-numbing, and she felt blood immediately begin to trickle from her palms, down her wrists and slipping under the sleeves of her dress. She screamed and cried, but refused to let go, until Joffrey eventually loosened his grip on the handle. Then, with perfect timing, Arya's Direwolf, Nymeria, leapt out of the shadows and latched onto his wrist, causing his to scream in pain and drop the sword. Arya ran to it, and held it at the Prince, threatening to gut him in return. Excusing the pain she felt, Lyra pulled Wolf from her sheath and held it at Joffrey, too, standing defiantly beside her sister. 

Despite having his own sword pointed at him by Arya, he still scoffed at Lyra's small blade, and referred to it as "petty", claiming she would never do anything with a blade so puny. Lyra was no longer timid, she took a step over the Prince, who was lying on the ground defencelessly, so she was no standing over him intimidatingly. She then said, "Though a knife of such a small size is not the most common weapon of defence, anyone with a clue would know that in the hands of, say, a little girl's revolt, it is fearsome." The Prince fell silent, with a look of dread on his face, and Lyra contemplated throwing her knife toward the ground near his body as a final warning. Interrupting her contemplation, Arya walked toward the river and threw the sword away, before calling for both her little sister and Direwolf, and escaping into the forest.

Nymeria was going to be in so much trouble. Though she had defended the girls, she had no way of defending herself from inevitable execution. So, to avoid such heartbreak, Arya told Nymeria to run before anyone found her. While Arya threw rocks to scare her beloved Direwolf away, Lyra began to succumb to the pain in her hands, sliding down the face of a tree and heaving her little chest so heart, she thought maybe her lungs would burst. She had never known such pain, and never seen so much blood. Arya spun around, after being successful in helping Nymeria escape, and grabbed Lyra's knife to cut off the bottom of her dress to make bandages for her hands to stop the bleeding. After she'd tied up her wounds, Arya sat beside her, and Lyra leaned her head against her sister's shoulder, starting to feel ill.

"They'll find us", Arya said, "They'll bring us in front of the King".

Facing the King was a worry for everyone, but being an Outsider made it even worse. Lyra just prayed the rotten Prince hadn't seen Lev. 

After a while of huddling in the forest together, in each other's arms, Arya brought up the possibility of them escaping, offering to carry Lyra until she felt better. She, too, feared what would happen if the King found out about Lyra being an Outsider. Sadly, time was lacking.

It was then that the guards approached, returning them to the Inn, where they were dragged in front of the King.


	10. Chief

Crossroads Inn, Along the Kingsroad

Lyra could hear her father's voice long before he entered the room, worrying about where his two youngest daughter's were.

Lyra and Arya had been brought before the King, the Queen and Prince Joffrey, as well as a room packed full of guards and company. Lyra was trembling, a mixture of the pain in her hands and the fear of being discovered as an Outsider. Her father barged into the room, and parted the sea of people to get to his daughters. He brushed Arya's face and pulled Lyra in close, asking tenderly, "Are you alright, are you hurt?". Arya nodded toward Lyra, and Ned took one look at his daughter's hands and immediately grew angry, demanding why he wasn't told earlier, why his children were dragged in front of the King, and why his daughter's wounds hadn't been tended to.

"We did not mean to scare them" King Robert sighed. 

From there, the conversation grew more intimidating. Joffrey, as Lyra would expect from him, lied about the ordeal, claiming that the girls and their sweet, innocent friend, Mycah, had surrounded him with sticks and beaten him, before letting their Direwolf on him. Arya grew angry, but Lyra couldn't deny her sense of relief, and she felt it in her father beside her-he hadn't mentioned Lyra being an Outsider, so perhaps he hadn't found out. 

When the Queen said, "Joffrey will bare these scars for the rest of his life", Ned scowled and said, "And what of my daughter's scars?"

"You should teach her better", Cersei replied rudely.

This confused Lyra. Her father had always told her to do the right thing, and that family comes first. All she thought she did was protect her sister and friend from Joffrey's anger and cruelty. She was tempted to yell something to her, much like Arya, but held her tongue, grateful her big secret hadn't been discovered, and Lev hadn't come into the argument.

They called upon Sansa to enter the room, and say what she saw. Sansa had been there and she saw the whole thing, the cruelty of the Prince's actions, and the defensiveness of her sisters. Lyra thought Sansa would tell the truth, but she was wrong.

"I don't know" Sansa stated, "It all happened too fast".

"LIAR!" Arya screamed, grabbing her sister's hair, prompting Joffrey to grin smugly and Cersei to say, "She's as wild as that animal of hers".

That was when Lyra relented, and knew that whatever Arya argued, or Ned or Sansa said, the Prince's lies would always take precedence over all other words and claims, even if they were truthful. Lyra held in her anger, and tuned out deciding hearing any more lies were unbearable. One day, this sour boy was going to be a king, _her_ king, and the thought made her sick. She was in pain, she was tired, she just wanted to go home, to run to the Godswood and be on her own again. Somewhere secluded, where she could run and play and be herself, and not be haunted by fears of her own execution and being found out to be something she was born as. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, and fear building up in her chest. 

She tuned back in to hear a soldier say that, though they looked, they couldn't find the Direwolf. Nymeria had obviously escaped, which made Arya breathe out a sigh of relief next to her.

"We have two other wolves" Cersei broke the silence, an evil grin creeping across her face.

And that was when Lyra knew; her Direwolf's fate was sealed. She'd been so worried about Lev being discovered, or Nymeria being captured, she'd naively believed Chief, her own wolf companion, would be deemed innocent and he would be safe.

Lyra joined in with Sansa pleading for her Direwolf, begging for Chief to be spared. 

"Please have mercy!" the little girl cried, just before a person emerged from the shadows, having previously been loitering, overhearing, and waiting to sink his fangs in.

Lyra immediately recognised the shadow as Ser Deacon. He was a colossal man, towering over all in the room and double their sizes in muscle. He was ivory toned, and Lyra could have sworn his teeth were fangs. His bald head glistened with sweat, and he always had a macabre grin, which made his presence menacing. His harrowing eyes bored into Lyra, as he growled, "There is no such thing as mercy".

Scared, she stared at the giant in fright for a moment, before turning to her father and the King to continue pleading for Chief's life. And, once more, Ser Deacon, wearing a mask of malevolence, snarled again, "There is no such thing as mercy".

Lyra silently disagreed, mercy did exist. Her brother's and sister's rescued their Direwolves; that showed mercy. Once their was a stray cat named Neva around Winterfell, and though Lyra wasn't allowed to keep it, Eddard permitted Lyra to leave it food. That was mercy. Everything was going so wrong, everything was so unfair, everything was so unjust, but mercy existed. Mercy had to exist, or else the world would be nothing but darkness.

Thankfully, but rather shockingly, it seemed the King had an ounce of mercy in him. "There is no need to kill both. Only one was at fault, only one needs to pay the price", his gruff voice rumbled. 

And that was that, the King had spoken, and her father was ordered to kill one of his daughter's Direwolves. Sansa and Lyra were still sobbing, still pleading, still begging. Ned ordered the captain of Winterfell's guards, Jory, to take the girls to their chambers, and to find someone to stitch up Lyra's hands. 

It was all too overwhelming. The pain of her wounded hands, the fear of being discovered as an Outsider, the grief of losing her beloved Direwolf. She was faint, and overwhelmed, and desperately wishing to go back home where she felt safe, where she felt loved. Jory scooped her up in his arms, and kindly whispered something along the lines of, "Hang on, little Lady, we'll get you fixed up". 

Just as exhaustion engulfed her, her last thoughts flicked rapidly to her innocent friend, and the day she got him. He was the biggest of the puppies, and ironically Lyra was the smallest of all the children. Chief was named from a story Jon would frequently tell her, regarding a brave Knight by the same name. The character was both strong, but sensitive, and, as Jon described him, like a fierce, unstoppable force in battle. And Lyra wished that for her companion.

Her final thought was a prayer to the Old Gods and the New that he would be safe.

And then, as all brave Knights eventually do, she surrendered to the darkness.

 

 

*******

**Hello, I hope you are enjoying the story! As this is my first story, I would greatly appreciate your comments and advice. I know where I want this story to go, but I need to know if YOU, the readers, are enjoying- so please, feel free to comment advice. Thank you in advance, it truly does mean a lot!**


	11. The Shadow of a Warrior

Kings Landing

The days had done nothing but drag.

They moved along so slowly, Lyra was surprised when the sun wandered down from his place in the sky, and the moon, who Lyra much preferred, took up her spot for the night shift, keeping watch over the sleeping world.

Her days had been spent either in a secretive Helai-lesson with Maester Leland, or in her chambers. That, or avoiding Sansa. She was still mad, and Lyra doubted if her older sister would ever forgive her. Weeks ago, when the King had ordered the death of one of the Direwolves, either Sansa's or Lyra's, Ned had spared Chief. The decision confused Lyra, though she was immensely grateful, but in Sansa's eyes it was all Lyra's fault, and a slur on her father's love for her.

Sansa brought the storm, and Lyra tried her best to attain shelter.

Such shelter, Lyra sought, was time learning with Lev and Maester Leland, lessons that had been abruptly ended on their departure from Winterfell. And now, with more opportunity to find solitude, the lessons were, at long last, able to resume.

"Be authoritative, my child", Leland instructed. For an Outsider at four years old, it was expected that a Helai could do more than Lev could do. Lyra could occasionally instruct Lev to come when his name was called, or when she whistled a specific, yet brief, harmonious tune, and periodically make herself feel an emotion in order to let Lev change species in mimic of her soul. Yet, according to Lyra, it wasn't enough.

Outsiders had a varying degree of skill. Some had no authority, and their Helai would simply remain, and settle, as the one creature, some outsiders were able to call their Helai's and verbally command their change into one or two separate species, some, like Maester Leland's Helai, Sella, were trained to change in hundreds of different species with just one simple command.

The very best Outsiders, however, were few. Only a couple had roamed, and most were butchered with the rest of their kind. Any survivors would undoubtedly be residing, in hiding, in the Land of Souls. These Outsiders were Lyra's inspirations. They were united to such an extent with their Helai's, a simple thought of an animal would be a great enough command to change the Helai's species. In the space of ten seconds, the animal would change from a butterfly, to a hawk, to a wolf, to a tiger.

Alas, Outsiders and Helai's were lethal in battle. Outsiders were warriors, and Helai's were their shadows. Sly, but deadly. They were the shadows of a warrior, and they were powerful.

"Lev, come" Lyra ordered, trying to be authoritative as her Maester had instructed. Lev, a baby white owl, shook his feathers and pecked under his wing, ignoring Lyra's command.

"Lev, come!" Lyra said again, following it with his special whistle. Still the baby bird would not budge.

"Think it child! He is your soul, communicate with your mind! Come on now!"

Lyra stared intently at Lev, her blue eyes boring into him, commanding him mentally to come to her. It was useless, a minute passed with nothing but Lev childishly hooting at Sella, who was perched as an Eagle by Maester Leland. Lyra sighed out, frustrated, and broke eye contact with Lev.

Almost instantly, Maester Leland was announcing, "Don't break focus, my child!"

"It isn't working. Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't. Lev isn't in the mood" Lyra said, regrettably. She braced herself for a lecture from her old Maester.

Maester Leland relented with a sigh, but Lyra noticed a sympathetic, and rather understanding, fog in his grey eyes.

"Sit down, child" he instructed, patting the bench next to him.

"I failed?" Lyra asked sadly.

"No child. You are right, but you are also very wrong. Sometimes things don't work, which means you must try it another way. Find another way to control Lev. You are both young, you are both innocent, you have years to connect. Yet, my dear one, you are also wrong in your words. You claim Lev lacks understanding, but it is truthfully you. Lev can hear your words, but not your mind. He is your soul. To understand him, you must understand yourself."

Lyra thought about his words of wisdom, and though she nodded and pretended to be deep in thought, the truth was she was confused. She always heard Outsiders were supposed to feel connected to their Helai's, yet Lev just seemed like a pet, not an extension of her-and certainly not a reflection of her soul.

Maester Leland looked at his little student's morose face and sunken shoulders. He put his arm around her feebly, feeling his age and certainly sounding it with a painful groan.

"I didn't connect with Sella until I was seven, three years older than you are now. My father, an Outsider before me, was my teacher. He showed me his way of communicating with his Helai, yet it never worked for me. Much like my method isn't working for you."

Lyra looked up at him and tried to smile, though very weakly.

Leland rose slowly, groaning and creaking, and began shuffling to the door, his grey cloaks trailing behind him and his grey beard glowing with sweat from the workout. He clicked and Sella flapped to his side, transforming into a loyal dog by his side before he left the room. He turned around and smiled at Lyra, giving Lyra hope that one day she could be in control of Lev.

Just as he was about to leave the room, Leland spoke in a hushed tone, "Sometimes great heartache is the only way to truly unleash your soul, to connect with your Helai. It was only then that Sella understood me completely. The dark side is more important then the light, it shows what you are truly made of."

The hairs on Lyra's neck stood on end, quickly asking, "what do you mean?" But it was too late, her Maester had left the room and any further talk of Outsiders and Helai's were against the rules outside the walls of the room.

Great heartache, Lyra thought.

What heartache had her Maester endured, and what heartache would Lyra have to endure to connect with her Helai. Her family was slowly getting scattered. Her mother had departed Winterfell for a reason kept secret from her, three of her brothers were still at home, Jon was at the Wall, and, thankfully, her father and sisters were still together.

Before she left the room, she looked at Lev and he looked at her. He tilted his head in curiosity, and Lyra couldn't help but smile. He was annoying, but he was sweet, and quite frankly Lyra would be lost without him.

She turned to leave the room, and Lev soared to her side. He might not listed to her, he might not understand her, but he would always follow her.

She would be the warrior, and he would forever be her shadow.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment what you think, it would mean a lot as this is my first story!


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